"I'm cold!" Liz moaned, and Ressler glanced at her as they trudged through ankle deep snow toward the large private residence, hotel and country club. It was a converted old mansion, Spanish in style, and something Reddington would feel right at home in, he mused.
"You're always cold," he told her, smiling as they approached the huge front doors.
As they stood on the step, she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the snow flurries on the brisk wind. "So, your flight is at 6?"
"Yeah," he said, glancing at his watch. "Got plenty of time."
"If they ever answer the door," she muttered, before the doors were opened to them to reveal a butler.
At the sight of the elderly, white haired gentleman, Ressler refrained from asking if his name was Albert, and asked if they could speak to Mr Marco Torres.
"Right this way, sir, ma'am," the man said, and let them in. As they made their way through the foyer and under a large chandelier, Ressler was reminded of Wayne Manor even more. The stopped outside a large mahogany door, and the butler let them in.
As a middle-aged man dressed in business attire turned to them, Ressler introduced themselves. "Mr Torres, Agents Ressler and Keen," he said as they flashed their ID badges, "I understand you have something to tell us?"
The man appeared nervous. "No, I'm not Torres. He, um." He stopped, wiping his brow. "My God, let me show you." He moved toward another exit from the room, motioning for them to follow and entered a large library. Books lined the dark wood walls from floor to ceiling. "I found this," he said, licking his lips as he stood beside a massive desk in the center of the room. "I found him here this morning." Unable to look a moment longer he stepped from the room, leaving Ressler and Liz looking down at a body.
"Mr Marco Torres, I presume," Ressler said, squatting down to the body as he snapped on some latex gloves. He looked up at Liz. "Why don't you go talk to our nervous nelly out there and I'll look around and try and figure out what happened here."
###
An hour later, having called the Post Office and talked with Cooper as well as Reddington, Ressler was frustrated. Reddington had not been at all pleased that the man he'd sent them to talk to was dead. The forensics team arrived and carted off the dear departed Mr Torres to the coroner that Reddington had specified. Ressler stood on the step outside watching the black van drive off. He glanced at his watch. 2pm now and he needed to be at the airport by 5pm and it was a good hour's drive back to the city on good roads. With the snow moving across the city, he'd need more time to get there, check in with Cooper, then grab his bag from his apartment and catch a cab to the airport.
Liz came up behind him, and peered outside, not wanting to step out into the cold wind. "Hey, Samar is on her way up here to help me go through this. Reddington needs us to talk to the staff and give this place the once over." Ressler turned back to her, his breath huffing around his face and nodded. Liz gave him a knowing smile. "Actually, I think she has an ulterior motive for making the long trek up here. She's thinking of booking a room in the hotel side of this place so her and Aram can spend Christmas Eve here tomorrow night." She looked out at the expansive garden across the circular drive, past their parked vehicles. "It is beautiful here, even with the snow."
"It is," Ressler agreed, stepping back inside. "Even with Mr Torres killed in the library with the candlestick." Liz smiled at the reference. "Can you head back with her?" he asked, "I really need to get out of here before I'm late. I know my family expect me to have to work, but I'm going to make it this year."
"Right? Surprise them all at this big Christmas family reunion. It will do you good to get out of the city for a while and spend some time with them," Liz replied.
Ressler groaned. "Right. That's what I keep telling myself." He really wasn't looking forward to it though. The same questions would arise. Why was he still working so far away in DC? His mother needed him closer. She wasn't getting any younger, you know. Are you seeing anyone? Why aren't you seeing anyone? You're not getting any younger either. And so it would go on. The Spanish Inquisition had nothing on the Ressler clan at family gatherings.
He felt Liz's hand on his arm. "I'm sure you will be fine," she said, smiling. "Go," she said, motioning him toward the door. "I've got this. I'll wait for Samar and head back to the Post Office once we're done."
"Thanks," he said, and felt for the SUV keys in his coat pocket. "So, if I don't hear from you again, have a good Christmas, Liz," he said, "and give Agnes a hug from her Uncle Donnie."
"I will, for sure. I'm sorry you can't come over on Christmas day. She'd love to see you again." She looked up at him, touching his arm once more. "I'd have liked that too."
Ressler held her eyes. He too would much rather be spending Christmas dinner with Liz and her little girl than heading up to Detroit for a few days with his own family. He sighed, then forced a smile. "Another time, okay?"
"You're on," she said, and patted his arm. "Go on, before you end up missing that flight," she grinned.
"Thanks, and I'll catch you in a few days." And with another look at her, he turned and left the mansion and made his way down the circular steps and crunched his way through the snow to their SUV.
###
Traffic was thankfully light as Ressler made his way south toward the city and his apartment. The roads had been recently plowed and he was making good time. But the benefit with not as much snow on the road meant there was more ice as the remnants refroze, so he kept his speed in check. His phone rang, and carefully taking it out of his pocket, keeping one eye on the road ahead and one in his rear view, he answered it.
"Ressler."
"Agent Ressler, have you left the Torres estate?" Cooper asked.
"Yes, sir, I'm heading back in. I should be back in about 45 minutes."
"That's why I'm calling. We're about to close up shop here, so no need to come back in to the office. I just wanted to wish you all the best for Christmas. Just get on that plane and spend time with your family."
"I will, thank you sir. Merry Christmas to you too."
As Ressler hung up, he glanced into his rear-view mirror again. A large truck was getting impatient, wanting to pass. Each time he tried, traffic would come from the other direction. Ressler kept an eye on him, shaking his head at the driver's impatience. As traffic from the other direction decreased, the large freight truck moved out and around him on the tree lined road.
It happened so fast, Ressler barely had time to react. As the truck swung around him, it hit smooth ice on the road, causing the trailer of the truck to hydroplane, sweeping from side to side on the road. In danger of being hit, Ressler spun the wheel out the way of the careening trailer, narrowly missing being hit.
"Shit!" he cried out, wrestling with his own vehicle that was now sliding dangerously on the ice. "Damn you!" he yelled at the unseen driver, who had now got his truck under control. Ressler slid on the ice and off the road, while the truck went on, the driver apparently oblivious to anything.
And just as Ressler thought he'd got his car slowed on the side of the road, the bottom fell out, literally as he hit a solid patch of ice. The vehicle skidded a foot, and as if in slow motion it slid backwards toward the roadside embankment, gathering speed. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare!" he yelled, gripping the wheel attempting to head it out of the downward slide. As the car slid, his steering was useless. With a crash, the car dropped sickeningly, dropping out of sight of the road and plunging downward through snow laden undergrowth. The vehicle hit a tree and bounced, pushing in his door, and he was only kept in his seat by his seat belt. His phone flew from his fingers, landing somewhere behind him, as the car slid backward, crunching its way down through the underbrush.
Another tree blocked his path and for a moment he thought he'd stopped, before the car flung sideways and suddenly, he was sideways then upside down as the car tumbled, the sides and roof caving in around him. He barely heard the scream that left his lips as he was flung from one side to the other, his seat belt the only thing saving him from landing headfirst on the roof. His vision tumbled with the car, and he lost his bearings in a dizzying mess of breaking glass and metal around him.
A sickening crunch and the sound of breaking glass behind him announced a large tree limb shattering the back window. What was left of the SUV hurtled downward, as the thick underbrush opened up behind him, to close immediately once he'd passed, hiding his passage. The vehicle slid the final few feet, slamming to a halt as a heavy tree branch fell onto the roof, crushing it within inches of his head. He ducked down, both cursing and thankful for his seat belt.
And suddenly there was stillness. No more tumbling down the embankment. The only sound that reached his ears was his panting breaths and the settling of small tree limbs and wet snow plopping onto and into the wrecked vehicle. His heart pounding, he hung in place, his seat belt holding, waiting to see if the vehicle had stopped moving. He held his breath, then exhaled it in a rush as everything settled and grew quiet around him.
"Holy shit," he whispered, trying to catch his breath. Gingerly he looked around, ducking to peer under the caved in roof of the vehicle. The rear end appeared to be rammed up against a thick tree. He wasn't level, and the car tilted back at an alarming angle, and downward toward the passenger side. He spun around to face the front again, cursing out loud at the narrowed opening where the front wind shield had been. He was never going to fit through that gap. He felt as if he were in a car crushing machine at a wrecker, with the small space he found himself in.
"Shit," he repeated, still trying to ascertain the entirety of his situation. He was damn lucky he hadn't been crushed to death. He felt relatively safe for now, but there was very little room to maneuver. He closed his eyes at the growing pain of slamming into the window and roof on his descent. He reached his shaking fingers up to his forehead, feeling the warm stickiness of blood. Below him, his lower left leg throbbed as the crushed door threatened to pin him in place.
And up above him on the road, the traffic continued along its way. There was no sign of his exit from the road. The trees and bushes had closed ranks after his path, the only indication a few snapped branches and a soft pile of wet snow on the ground and faint tracks, as fresh snow began to obliterate even that.